


Fucked

by Bounds of Decency (boundsofdecency)



Category: Leverage
Genre: Boys Will Be Boys, M/M, commitment issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:38:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2851091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boundsofdecency/pseuds/Bounds%20of%20Decency
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot knew he was utterly fucked the day he found Quinn's go bag in his coat closet, half-hidden behind his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fucked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theron09](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theron09/gifts).



> So much thanks to my brilliant beta, L.: you're invaluable.

"What was that," Eliot asked as he eased his cock into the hot, tight heat of Quinn's ass. "What was that, you just fucking *going* with it when I was holding a gun on Dubenich?"

"Shit, Eliot," Quinn hissed as Eliot pushed in deeper, keeping the strokes slow and languid. "Your cock's almost in my throat. You expect me to think?"

Eliot braced himself on one hand and grabbed Quinn's balls with the other, not hurting him, just making Quinn gasp with the vulnerability. "Don't give me that shit. Answer the question."

Quinn groaned as Eliot shifted the angle of his strokes. "It's… it's like how everyone knows I'm gay. What -- fuck, don't fucking stop -- it can't get to you if it doesn't matter to you. A hitter's not supposed to be gay and a hitter's not supposed to lose his taste. Fuck it -- ah, fuck, Eliot -- fuck, I'm not buying into that shit that killing's gotta be your passion in order to get the job done, just like it doesn't make me any less a professional if everyone knows I suck cock. There's more to life than your rep -- Christ!"

The image of the gun trembling in his hand was as clear as day. "You call that getting the job done?"

"I call it working with what you've got. Fucking -- goddamned -- quit dicking around and fuck me! Fucking... Things change. You changed."

"I cracked."

"It's not the end of the fucking world. But it will be if you don't fucking... fuck it --" Quinn gave Eliot a hard shove, pushing them apart and wrestling until Eliot was on his back, Quinn straddling his hips. Quinn lowered himself on Eliot's cock, setting a pace that shoved Eliot past caring and into senseless.

\--

Quinn worked his way into Eliot's life slowly, finding the weak spots and making sure he was right there to take advantage of them. Beer, that was practically the key to his front door. Eliot thrived on spending time with another good ol' boy from Oklahoma. All Quinn had to do was keep things friendly and Eliot would relax right into it, one beer at a time, all casual conversation and warm laughs. Quinn knew he had him when Eliot was annoyed but not surprised to come home to find Quinn there, unannounced, stretched out on his couch like a self-satisfied cat.

"Goddamn it Quinn, you looking to get gutted, sneaking into my house?" Eliot's knife was out, casually hanging in the air near Quinn's groin.

It was ridiculous 'cause Eliot already had to look before he struck -- Parker had a thing for popping up wherever she pleased.

Indulging Eliot's paranoia, Quinn lept off the couch and tackled Eliot, taking the knife and tucking it against his forearm as he sent Eliot sideways into the wall. Eliot grappled and shoved, sending a knee into Quinn's liver, making him pause and gasp, but only for a moment. Quinn smirked.

"You're getting slow," Quinn taunted as he ducked into Eliot's reach and drove him back with a forearm to the throat and the blade pressed to Eliot's sternum. Eliot didn't struggle, though they both knew Eliot could take the advantage. Instead, Eliot slowly and intentionally ground his groin into Quinn's, giving a challenging grin and a lick of his lips. With one swift movement of Eliot's body, Quinn was on his knees and the knife was on the floor.

Quinn forgot about the knife as he saw that Eliot was unbuckling his jeans. Quinn leaned in, eagerly waiting as Eliot shoved his clothes down his hips, tasting Eliot and encouraging him to push in deep.

\--

Eliot knew he was utterly fucked the day he found Quinn's go bag in his coat closet, half-hidden behind his own.

Eliot stared at the goddamned thing for ten minutes, jaw clenched; wondered just how long it had been sitting there. Cash, IDs, med kit, guns -- everything Quinn would need for a quick escape -- casually tossed in the back of his closet with the same lazy familiarity as Quinn's towel on the bathroom floor.

He didn't know if he wanted to punch the wall or throw the fucking thing out the window.

Half of his anger was because he kinda wanted it there.

Fuck.

\--

Next time Quinn and made it out to Eliot's, his go bag was on the front porch along with everything else he'd casually left lying around. Sprinkled over top was a pile of beer caps he'd tossed behind the fridge. That hurt like fuck 'cause everything was going so well and he didn't know what the hell he'd done wrong. All the signs had said go. He couldn't decide whether to pound on Eliot's door for an explanation or to quietly pick up his shit. Eliot was in there; he knew that. Maybe Eliot wouldn't answer the door but he'd hear the knock.

When in doubt, pick the easy route. Quinn sat on the porch and cracked open one of the beers he'd brought, watching the light fade as the sun set. It was getting cold, so he grabbed a jacket from his bag, sending a few caps clattering to the concrete. His ass was cold and numb but he had time, and he'd kinda set his sights on making Eliot come to him. It wasn't like Eliot could hold out for much longer anyway. And Quinn had all the time in the world.

Instinct more than vision had him looking up at the eaves, finding half a head and a ponytail hanging down. "Hi."

He grinned. "Parker." He offered her a beer.

He liked her. She was reliable when it counted, and she was always good for a bit of something surprising. She waved off the beer and lowered herself on the roof so he could see her whole torso, still hanging upside down.

"He's not gonna let you in," Parker said.

"Why?"

She frowned and resolutely shook her head. She looked hurt.

"Because he didn't let you in? That's how you know?"

She nodded. She shoved off the roof in a perfect backflip, dropping onto the ground. She sat down on the porch, one arm wrapped around her knees, the other digging in his bag. "You got anything good in here?"

"Maybe. You know what's going on with him?"

"He kicked you out, right?"

"He thinks so. Didn't talk to me about it, though, so I'm just counting it as him moving his stuff around. He'll put it back where it goes eventually."

"Yeah. He doesn't know how not to be Eliot."

That didn't make sense. But it was Parker so he settled for, "Well, it'll get back where it goes eventually."

"I could sneak it back in. Would that help?"

He grinned at the possibilities. "Nah, but it's... if I think of something you can do I'll let you know."

She nodded. "He's backwards sometimes. That's what Nate says. Anger's not anger, you know. Like that."

The door opened. Eliot said, "Go home, Parker."

"Promise me you'll fix it," she said.

Eliot growled, "I'm not promising anything. Go."

Quinn didn't notice whether she'd stayed or gone; all his attention was on Eliot.

"So, you're thinking I'm gonna just what... put it all back?"

"No harm in optimism," Quinn replied. "You gonna be decent enough to tell me what I did wrong?"

"Already did."

"Say it again, then?"

"This." Eliot waved his hand at the pile of Quinn's stuff.

"That's not... fuck you, Eliot. You're pissed off 'cause I didn't ask if I could leave my bag here?"

"I answered your question. You mind getting off my porch?"

"Sure." He swung his bag around as if to put it on his shoulder and let it tumble into Eliot, just enough to get him off balance, just enough for the bag and Quinn to get inside. Eliot tried to block him; Quinn ducked and backed out of range.

Eliot headed straight for the door. Quinn watched as the door closed and locked, heard Eliot's pickup start, and watched as it pulled away.

Frustrated and confused, Quinn sighed. Well, the gambit worked once so it might work twice -- he figured he should just wait Eliot out. Quinn retrieved the rest of the stuff from the porch and spent a few minutes throwing the bottle caps behind the fridge, one by one.

\--

Three days later, Eliot finally returned to his house. He knew that Quinn would be there. It pissed him off and made him feel helpless and somehow, deep under all that, he was glad. He pushed open the door to find Quinn relaxing on the couch with his feet on the arm rest.

"Pretty sure you could call this stalking," Eliot grumbled.

"Not my fault it takes us forever to finish a fight."

"You don't -- I don't --" And there still were no goddamned words for it. "There's no us, goddamn it, and I'm -- it's not right, you acting like there is."

"Why?" Quinn demanded. "What's so wrong with me being part of your life?"

The simple ignorance of the question infuriated Eliot. There was no fucking answer to that. He'd spent three days trying to find an answer to that. It wasn't -- "Because it's fucking too goddamned much, that's why."

"Oh."

The quiet change of tone made everything all the more dangerous. Eliot watched warily as Quinn stood up. Quinn unbuttoned his shirt, toed off his socks, and opened his fly. Naked and unashamed, he padded toward the bedroom. "You coming?" Quinn asked as he disappeared. Eliot could hear the mattress give beneath him.

Eliot squeezed his eyes shut, trying to deny that all this was happening. Nothing made sense, nothing was right, and why the fuck couldn't Quinn play by some definable set of rules? He didn't know what the fuck he wanted to do about any of it. He stood there, staring at the door, trying to make up his mind and not getting anywhere. Ten, fifteen minutes passed. Quinn came back out. He had a bottle of lube in his hand.

"Simple question," Quinn asked, "Right now, do you wanna get fucked?"

Eliot swallowed. Yeah. He... that would be simple and easy. "Yeah."

Quinn advanced on him, forcing him to back himself into the kitchen counter. Quinn turned him around and bent him over the counter, shoving his pants down to his knees. The lube was still cold as Quinn slicked everything up and pushed in. He adjusted the angle until it was just right and it was all Eliot could do to hold himself upright as Quinn sent sparks of pleasure through his body with every thrust.

"I left a bag in your house. It doesn't have to mean anything other than I left a bag in your house. Doesn't have to mean we're picking out china patterns."

Eliot braced himself against the counter, hiding his face in his hands, glad that Quinn couldn't see the part of him that wanted it to mean something.

Quinn stilled and pulled out.

"What the fuck --"

Quinn was smoothing his hands along Eliot's back. Eliot's balls ached and his cock needed attention, and where did Quinn get off teasing him like that? He turned to confront him, and he wished he hadn't. The calculating look said it all.

Quinn nudged him toward the bedroom and Eliot went, confused. It didn't matter, he told himself. Wasn't like Quinn was gonna listen to him anyway, so there was no point in coming up with a way to deal with it.

In the bedroom he risked one more glance in Quinn's direction. Quinn didn't say a word but the calculating look hadn't gone away. That was wrong, so wrong for Quinn, who was always so relaxed and good-natured. But then he was on his stomach with his legs pushed open and Quinn shoved so deep inside him and all he needed was to come.

Stroke after stroke, he gasped and groaned, needing something more even though it was already too much. Quinn kept him right there on the edge, so close, so goddamned close, but never really enough. Over and over, Quinn shoved inside, pleasuring himself. And when at last it was starting to climb into something that Eliot thought might get him off, Quinn stilled. Eliot could feel the throbbing at his entrance as Quinn's cock twitched, coming.

"Fuck, please, I need to come," Eliot gasped.

Quinn pulled out and added a little more lube, then pushed his fingers in, giving Eliot's prostate the stimulation it needed. Eliot couldn't help but shove his cock into the sheets as Quinn's fingers rippled across his nerves, making it impossible to catch his breath. Quinn slowed down enough to keep the arousal steady. "If the problem's that it's supposed to be more than just my bag that belongs here, we can fix that."

Fuck you, Eliot thought. Fuck, I can't deal with this. Fuck you.

Quinn nudged Eliot's hips up and Eliot scrambled up onto his knees and elbows. Quinn pressed his fingers into Eliot hard enough to make him whimper as Quinn rearranged himself, lying underneath Eliot's cock. Another nudge, and Eliot was sinking into the hot, moist heat of Quinn's mouth. Quinn sucked and licked, calming him, surrounding him.

Eliot closed his eyes and felt all the sensations -- the fingers in his ass, the tongue along his shaft, bottoming out against the back of Quinn's throat when Quinn pulled him forward to take him deep. He needed it to last forever and he needed it to be over now and he needed anything but to deal with what Quinn had just said. The touch, the heat, the wetness, they all surrounded him, making him need everything and nothing. And then he was coming hard, feeling the lightest touches of Quinn's tongue teasing against his almost painfully sensitive tip.

Much as he might have feared it'd become some huge talk when everything was done, Quinn got comfortable under the covers and drifted off to sleep.

Sleep was never that easy for Eliot, but something had righted in his world. Quinn was here and Quinn wasn't pushing him for answers and Quinn was gonna be here tomorrow. That was something.

\--

Quinn lived light; any hitter did. You kept things simple; kept your roots nice and shallow. It was hard to even think of what he could do to prove he'd set up shop with Eliot. His guns were the first idea -- always nice to have his collection near. But he didn't figure Eliot would appreciate that. Knives, though. He had some nice knives.

They talked long into the night as Quinn showed Eliot his collection and told stories about places where they'd been, people they'd ended, employers he'd used them for. Eliot always seemed shocked at Quinn's lack of discretion, but hell, if he couldn't trust Eliot with that sort of thing, who could he trust? He'd had too damned many years of going it alone.

\--

Nate was smirking when Eliot came into work two weeks later. Eliot looked at Parker suspiciously, but she was oblivious, paying attention to something Sophie was writing, and it hadn't seemed she'd said anything before then.

"Y'all's nasty," Hardison said.

Eliot clamped down on a terrible twitch. What the fuck had Hardison seen? Hell, what had he heard? It was Hardison; it could be anything. Fuck. What the fuck? "I'm gonna start breaking bones if you don't clarify that," Eliot threatened, leaning over Hardison, wondering just how far he'd be willing to go to make his point.

Hardison's eyes widened a bit and he seemed to realize he'd crossed a line. Silently, he keyed up a file and hurried away from his computer. It was the surveillance camera that covered Eliot's street.

Off in the distance, there was Quinn, carrying out the trash along with a very distinctive, very large, and very empty bottle of lube. Eliot kicked himself for handing the bottle to Quinn after Quinn had tied up the bag.

Well, that was one way to break the news to the team, he guessed. Wary, he looked around to see what everyone was gonna say about their hitter taking it up the ass.

"That does open up our options," Sophie said. "It'd be nice if one of you guys could do the wink and shimmy for those marks who are of that persuasion."

Hardison's indignant squawk was heard across the room. "You sayin' I couldn't pick up a mark? Nah, y'all think all I do is sit behind a monitor. I'm in the gym every day. Every. Day. I have a tappable ass, I will have you know, and all I'm sayin' --"

"Nate doesn't even let you flirt with women, silly," Parker said.

Eliot said, "No one wants to know how tappable you think your ass is. No one."

Hardison started arguing the point with Sophie. Nate nodded to Eliot, beckoning him over. Reluctantly, Eliot went.

Quietly, Nate said, "Quinn's good for you."

Eliot tried not to tense up. "Yeah."


End file.
